Yancy is angry. His parolee didn’t show up for the second time. Goddamnit.

Pounding on the door his frustration builds. “Yerik! Open up!” His Russian parolee is really starting to grate his nerves. “Yerik!”

The battered pealing door slowly opens but not enough to invite him in. “What do you want?”

“Open up, Yerik.”

“Go away,” a heavy sigh sets his teeth on edge, “I can’t deal with you today.”

Anger surges up, pushing open the door his concern takes over as a small cry and loud thunk comes from behind the door. Slamming the rickety thing his gaze lands on Yerik slumped against the wall. One side of his face sports a lovely shiner, a split lip drips fresh blood. His parolee moves with care telling him more injuries lie underneath. “What the hell happened?”

Yerik looks at him with such loathing and contempt he has to make a conscious attempt to not step back under those light blue eyes. “You did.”

“Me? How?” He hasn’t done anything to Yerik.

“Telling me to dump my pimp. Clean myself up and get a decent job. Your words of a happy future for me is what did this. I have no future.”

Cocking his head to the side Yancy says nothing as he snatches a new garbage bag from the kitchen counter. Yerik’s clothes lay not to far on his bed in this pitiful one bedroom apartment. Stuffing Yerik’s clothes inside he ignores his parolee’s mutterings in Russian.

“Come on.” Grabbing Yerik by the upper arm he drags the man from the apartment.

“What are you doing? You can’t do this to me.”

“Shut it.” Tossing Yerik’s clothes into the backseat of his SUV followed by Yerik himself he eyes a tall man watching him at the end of the street. Yerik’s cry of pain does little in making him feel sorry for what he’s doing.

Walking around the car he climbs in to drive Yerik to a new life rather he likes it or not.